


The Whisperer in Darkness

by Sjukdom



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Angst, Creepy, Gen, Horror, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Supernatural Elements, gobblepotweek2015
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-27
Updated: 2015-09-27
Packaged: 2018-04-23 15:53:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4882840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sjukdom/pseuds/Sjukdom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Little Oswald moves in the new house with his mother, who is delighted to leave their small flat. Soon he finds out that this place, surrounded by strange forest, has its own expectations of him.<br/>***<br/>Written for Gobblepot Week 2015: Day 7 - Free day</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Whisperer in Darkness

**Author's Note:**

> English is not my native language, so feel free to tell me about any mistakes :)  
> ***  
> I dedicate this work to H.P. Lovecraft, who showed me the other side of the world.

It was a big, cold house and inside dwelt the stink the stink of mould and wet wood. Oswald coudn't say that their previous small flat was any better, but at least it was dry there, the cooker spread the calming warmth, it was not so dark, there were no shadows in the corners, shadows, which looked like some terrible crooked creatures, staring at him motionlessly as if waiting for the moment, when he wouldn't be looking at them. The house was built from wood, bleak and polished with weather. The wood creaked, filling his new home with strange sounds, which woke him up at night. Visiting his new bedroom for the first time, Oswald was disgusted to find moss on the walls. It was constantly wet like a bleeding wound and that blood had an unnatural shade of green. Also. Oswald suspected that it was _moving_. He was scared, but didn't dare to tell Mom about his fears. And would he say? That moss on the walls crawled like torn parts of a big slimy jelly-fish and sometimes he could actually see it through the veil of sleep? That he saw the _eyes_ in the moss, black and shiny like beetles' backs? Oswald curled in his bed and counted, squeezing his eyes tightly and telling himself that this is only a nightmare. The bed felt like a snowbank, blankets cold and prickly, pillows hard and smelly. It wasn't their house, there was something wrong with it, but Oswald didn't want to look like a small child, scared of his own shadow. Though it wasn't actually _his_ shadow he should have been aware of.

Besides, Mom was happy to be here, excited that now they could live in a proper house. She went round and round across the gloomy rooms, smiling and singing something softly, her eyes half-closed. Oswald didn't have a heart to tell her that he didn't like the house at all. And he was alarmed also. Didn't she see what this house was?

“How do you like our new home, Schätzchen?” asked Mom, noticing him. She approached Oswald and held his face in her hands, then left a kiss on his forehead. She had a dreamy look on her face and smiled at him lovingly. Oswald imagined, how he would tell her that it was awful here, how much he was scared, how uncomfortable and unfriendly this place was. Mom would step back, a worried expression on her face, her eyes too dark, a deep line between her eyebrows – how he hated that line! It made her look older, uglier. Mom was so beautiful now, like in the old days. He couldn't just destroy it, so he lied. Mom laughed and kissed his nose and spun around with him. The house spun with them, the creatures in the corners watched them, paddling endless long limbs. Oswald was out of breath soon and felt rather silly, because he was too clumsy with his bad leg to spun around.

Around the house laid a forest – for little Oswald it spread for miles, old tall trees were so big they looked unnatural, as if some giant build them long-long ago. Their branches scratched the roof of the house like long sharp claws and falling acorns hammered on it like quick squirt. In the beginning of their new life Oswald couldn't sleep properly in this cacophony, but never complained. One night he got up and went to the window, looking at the oak tree, which grew near his bedroom on the first floor of the house. Its silhouette stood in the dark sky and it seemed to Oswald that the tree resembled a human shape – its crown looked like a head, its trunk was a body, its branches reached out like hands. Oswald opened the window and touched them, like in a dream. Some part of him was alarmed and screamed at him that he should stop it right now, but the other longed to contact with the rough texture of the bark. The night wind blew and branches of the oak swayed back and forth.

As he touched the nearest branch, the tree suddenly stood still, though the wind kept on blowing. Oswald thought that it was weird, but everything was weird here. He began to wake up slowly, noticing the strange smell in the bedroom – floral and almost imperceptible. But maybe, it was also a part of the dream he lived in. Maybe, he would wake up in his old bed, where everything was familiar – same walls with choppy wallpapers and no moss on them, same bathroom with the rusty tub, same school. Although the school was the only thing Oswald didn't miss. He had no friends there, only enemies, laughing at him, humiliating him and telling horrible things about Mom. Oswald doubted if it would be different here, when summer would be over and schooldays would begin. At least, nobody knows them here. But there certainly would be a bunch of boys, who would tease him for his bad leg, when he, red with shame, would limp across the corridor, who would steal his stuff and shove it in the toilet and would paste offensive notes onto his back. Oswald tried not to think about it. It was harder not to think about all the books he had to leave behind – he always read at school, hiding somewhere from his torturers. He hoped there was a bookshop somewhere here, but can't help imagining his old books at some stinky dump, lying there among scraps and dirty bottles. Everything seemed so sad to him here.

Oswald shook his head and attempted at chasing these thoughts away. It was only august, it was too early for thinking about this. His main concern now was that that tree he was touching. Its bark scratched his hand a little as if there were tiny, needle-like teeth deep inside it. Oswald palmed the branch carefully, noticing how warm it was. Just like his own body. Small needles seemed to come out from the bark – he felt the growing pressure on his palm. Somehow it was comforting, like petting the dog with very rough fur. Suddenly he whispered softly as he reached out to the smaller branches with thick green leaves:

“Stop it, please. I cannot sleep with this noise”, Oswald froze, frightened. Did he just talk to the tree? In this moment he felt a light pricking on his hand and withdrew it with a jerk. Oswald looked at his palm and saw a small wound there, crimson on his white skin. Was it only his imagination or was really there a deep shade of green glistening in his blood? He closed the window with trembling hands. Looking around, he saw the moss on the walls, which he couldn't clear away, no matter, how hard he tried. It was shivering slightly as in excitement, small bubbles appeared on its dirty surface. Was there something else, too, hidden inside of it?

Oswald felt dizzy and grabbed the back of his bed, trying not to fall down. It was a bad dream. He was going mad. Or both. Because the worst thing was not the fact that he talked to the tree. The worst thing was the feeling that it – and the moss, and the whole _forest_ – was listening to him.

Oswald curled in his bed and pulled the blanket over his head. He touched his wound carefully and was surprised to find that it had already crusted. Oswald licked it absentmindedly and tasted the dew and fresh leaves on his tongue. He waited for the oak scratching its branches again, but there was only silence. He trembled like he had a fever, but at the same time, he felt rather rather calm and even sleepy. Oswald closed his eyes involuntary and fell asleep, seeing in his dream a broad meadow, with grass nearly as high as he was, enclosed by the trees. They turned their trunks slowly, raised their branches, their roots appeared above the ground like they were dancing a strange mesmerizing dance. He felt that there was something in front of him in the grass, but couldn't see it.

Oswald twisted and turned in his sleep. The trees stood around the house motionlessly despite the wind, not a single leaf moving on their branches.

***

Little by little Oswald was getting used to their new home. He barely thought about the tree at his window, sure that all of that had been but a dream. He paid no attention to the wound on his hand, assuming that he just scratched himself accidentally. The wound healed slowly, but finally there was only a white scar on his palm. The scar looked like an oak's leaf.

Oswald told himself that he was old enough and couldn't be frightened by such childish chills like shadow monsters or moving moss on the walls. They were only his imagination. It was only a house – old and filled with noises, but every old house is like that. They couldn't afford a better one anyway. Oswald started to explore the house more carefully, noticing the wonderful things in it: dew on the windows in the morning, small daisies near the steps, tender grass-blades, growing between the floor boards on the ground floor, ivy, enlacing the back of the house... The forest around was magnificent and he couldn't understand, why he hadn't noticed that earlier. The leaves of trees were so big they made a sustainable roof upon him and had an unbelievable shade of green. The forest was filled with wet smells of grass and wild flowers and somewhere in the deep of it the brooks were flowing – Oswald could hear the gentle sounds of water, when he entered the forest. He wanted to explore the forest more closely, but Mom was afraid that he would get lost. Oswald didn't understand her fears. The forest was a dream, the trees in it felt like they were his friends. He often noticed the tender touches of their branches, when he was going through the forest and this caress reminded him of Mom. He persuaded her again and again and finally she gave up.

They went into the forest, holding hands and Mom squeezed his so tight it hurt, but Oswald didn't care. She looked back constantly as if she was afraid that their house could disappear in every moment. Oswald led her forward, feeling that he somehow knew where to go, how he could reach the meadow he saw constantly in his dreams. He crossed it every night, but could never see what was hiding there. He felt that it was studying him, looking at him from the grass, from every leaf on each tree, from the ground itself. It was nowhere and everywhere. Even now Oswald felt its presence, felt it staring at him with no eyes, speaking to him without voice. He didn't know, what it was, but it was a friend, the only one he had in his life. Oswald tried to ask it, where it was, what it was, what was its name, but it never answered. At the back of his mind Oswald decided to call it Jim – he always like the name. Now he was listening to Jim's soft whisper, entwined in the scratching of the branches and in the sound of his own steps. He liked what he heard. Oswald even didn't notice that there were no animal sounds in the whole forest, no chirping of birds, no humming of insects; there was not a single spiderweb on trees. He was happy to be here. The scar in the shape of an oak's leaf was pulsating a little, responding to the voice of Jim.

“We went too far from home, Liebchen, we need to go back”, said Mom pleadingly. Oswald looked at her, surprised by her paleness, by her shiver, by beads of sweat on her forehead. She didn't like to be here at all, it seemed. Oswald felt a sudden wave of anger, outraged by her reaction. This feeling was strange, coming somewhere outside him and Oswald was frightened by it. He felt guilty for having such feelings towards Mom. It was not her fault, she was not 

_ready_

yet. But she would be soon.

“You go, Mom. I can stay here for a while on my own”, said Oswald soothingly. He didn't want to turn back, when he was so near to it, to Jim. It was waiting for him. It was calling him.

“No, mein lieber Knabe, you can't be here all alone, it's too dangerous. We'll go here tomorrow, I promise you. Let's get home and eat the cake I prepared in the morning, ja?”

Oswald allowed reluctantly to lead him him out of the forest. Glancing back one last time, he waved a little, saying goodbye to Jim. Out of the corner of his eye he saw, that one of the nearest trees waved him back with a slightly crooked branch.

***

Oswald woke up in the middle of the night in his bed, which was – _already_ – unusual. Lately he slept in Mom's bed, cuddling with her happily and feeling her warmth. He didn't remember clearly, how that had begun, Mom just said that she wanted him sleeping by her side and kissed him on the mouth, when he said yes. Staring in her eyes, Oswald could see the greenish glow, sparkling, glistening. Maybe, Mom touched accidentally a branch in the forest or tried to wipe off the moss in his room too enthusiastically. Jim didn't like it at all, of course. He talked to Oswald often now and had said many times that Mom should have been _ready_ by now. Oswald agreed with him eagerly. He liked to feel _ready_. Mom would like it, too, he was sure. It was so much fun to have Jim as a friend!

At first, getting _ready_ , Oswald was a bit scared. He looked at the veins on his hands and saw that they slowly became green instead of blue. He was thirsty all the time and drank water cup after cup. Sometimes it ended with the wet bed in the morning and the liquid, which soaked the bedsheets, was green, too. But Jim was always there, comforting him, saying that there was nothing to be scared of. He was getting ready. Didn't he like the other things, that he to do?

Yes, Oswald liked them. Now, when Mom was getting _ready_ , too, they could talk without opening their mouths. They listened to Jim, sometimes all day long. He called them deep into the forest – into _himself_. There they would discover the thing that was hidden in the meadow Oswald saw in his dreams. Now he shared these dreams with Mom – they stood side by side, staring and staring forward, awaiting the thing to reveal itself. They seemed not to move at all, but somehow they did, sliding ahead without moving their feet. When they were close to the thing, the dream ended suddenly. Oswald woke up frustrated and shivering and Mom held him tight and kissed him deep and he could taste her tears on his tongue, sweet as morning dew. They waited and waited until...

Until the night came, when they were finally _ready_.

They gathered quickly. The forest around them stood no more still – the trees twisted, waved, danced, greeting them. Oswald felt a bit dizzy, but it was good. It was full dark, no stars were seen on the sky – green light lit the sky, turning it into the reflection of the forest, with clouds like wind-borne leaves. Jim spoke to them, hurrying them and his call was as strong as ever. Oswald glanced at Mom sometimes and saw that her eyes glowed with green, a bright, phosphorescent color. He knew that his own eyes were the same, but he wasn't afraid now at all. His friend whispered in his ear in the dark, the trees parted before them and they were heading to the miraculous meadow, where the the treasure awaited them.

The treasure...

They reached the meadow and it was much better than it was in their dreams. They saw the smoke above it, something bright glistening in it. Adored, they walked right towards it. On the other side of the meadow was a crack in the ground, narrow and long, green light pulsating in the deep of it. Standing right near it they smelled a beautiful smell of flowers, smiles on their lips, cracked so badly the green blood flowed from them. Jim spoke aloud, asking them to bend upon the crack and his voice blacked out other noises. Neither Oswald himself, nor Mom heard them – screams coming out of the crack, a thousand voices pleading for help. There were two distinct ones among them – Oswald's and Gertrud's.

They bent down, breathing in the fumes coming out of the crack.

The screams died soon.

***

The day Oswald went to his new school was bright and cloudless. He and Mom got up early and ate breakfast, though mostly they drank tea, filling their cups again and again. 

“Don't know why this house was so hard to sell. It is magnificent! Es ist wunderbar!” Mom emptied another cup and licked her lips. Her saliva now had the greenish shade, too, her teeth were covered with dark plaque. Oswald agreed with her, thinking about his first school-day. He felt a bit nervous, but only a bit. He knew what he was able to do now. He was no more _ready_. He had already _become_.

Of course, there was that boy, who pushed him and laughed, when Oswald fell, not able to hold balance with his bad leg. The others laughed, too. Oswald only smiled. He talked with the boy and little by little he began to consider Oswald as his – no, not friend. But not a target for bullying, too.

Once Oswald asked him casually if he wanted to see something cool in the forest. The boy weighed his propose, glanced at his friends and said yes. He was afraid of the forest, but didn't want to look as a coward.

Oswald returned lately, calm and happy and kissed his mother, before going to sleep by her side.

The boy he lead into the forest was never seen again. Oswald slept and smiled in his sleep. He would lead more kids to Jim, adults, too, maybe. He was capable of it now. Mom would help, too. Jim wanted more fun and they would serve him it. 

Fun with Jim would never end!


End file.
